Díventare
by Mingsmommy
Summary: Emily is ill and Dave has to deal with the fallout. Spoilers through season 4.
1. Chapter 1

Spoilers all the way through Season 4 including iTo Hell…and Back/i 4X25

Disclaimer: I do not own _Criminal Minds_, I am making no profit from the writing of this fic.

smacky30 is the best beta in the world, an amazing friend, confidante, cheerleader, ass kicker and hand holder. This simply would not have seen the light of day without her encouragement. I am grateful for her. Oh! And she gets credit for the title, too.

* * *

Life is a process of becoming, a combination of states we have to go through. Where people fail is that they wish to elect a state and remain in it. This is a kind of death. -Anais Nin

***

The pre-dawn grey has started to lighten with a rosy tint around the edges and the unrelenting birdsong of a summer morning has begun in earnest by the time Dave opens his eyes for the first time on what turns out to be the longest day of his life.

Emily's side of the bed is empty when he wakes and he frowns. He's always been an early riser, but she likes to linger under the covers as long as she possibly can. Dave likes that, likes waking up with her in his arms or at least within arm's reach. Most mornings he watches her sleep for a little while, enjoying the sight of her dark hair spread out against his pillows, dark lashes against her cheeks, face relaxed and unguarded. Then, he either wakes her with kisses (weekends) or slips out of bed to put on coffee and make her some breakfast (workdays).

At first, they only spent the weekends together, but one or two nights a week has morphed into four or five nights a week when they're not on the road. Neither of them talks about it or how they now have each others keys and each home now has allotted drawers and closet space. But more and more, they're spending the nights at his place and he wonders how much longer it will be before they're both living here. It's mid August; they'll be up to seven nights a week by Christmas he's willing to bet. He'd like that; well, he'd like that provided it doesn't prompt an _Oh my god what the hell are we doing_ freak out from Prentiss. Of course they've never really talked about what the hell they _are_ doing. He's not sure if neither of them wants to start the conversation or if they're just waiting for it to blow up in their faces. He supposes at some point they will have to talk about it, but he doesn't see the point until it becomes necessary. Hopefully in the "I need more drawer space" type of necessary, not the "Oh my god, we are so fucked" type of necessary.

There will be time for worrying about that later. Now he needs to find his future-maybe-roommate. He puts a robe on over his pajama bottoms. Prentiss has permanently commandeered all of his pajama tops, but he's not complaining. They certainly look a damn sight better on her than they do on him, and there's a casual intimacy about it that he likes. She's not in the bathroom, but he takes a minute to use the facilities and brush his teeth before he goes downstairs looking for her.

He smells the coffee before he's halfway down the stairs and finds a full pot in the kitchen, but no Emily. The Great Room is empty too, but there's a faint sound of movement from the sunroom. When he rounds the corner there she is, still dressed in his pajama top, her arms crossed over her stomach, staring out one of the almost floor to ceiling windows.

Deliberately dragging his feet just a little, to alert her to his presence, he moves into the room. The sun isn't even fully up but the room is already warm, and he automatically flips the switch to turn on the two ceiling fans. "You're up early."

She doesn't turn and when she speaks, her voice is a little bleak. "They're fighting."

Puzzled, he moves to her side. "Who's fighting?"

Nodding to the window, she breathes a sigh. "The hummingbirds."

It was in the spring when they'd still been living out of their go bags, alternating houses when she'd balked at spending the weekend with him. At first he was afraid he'd done something wrong and had gotten aggressive about why. He ended up feeling like an idiot when he discovered that after hearing the first hummingbirds of the season had been spotted, she put up her feeder and was anxious to see if the one she had the year before returned to her feeder this year.

So, he had spent the weekend at her brownstone and the next weekend when she'd come to his house he showed her the new feeder just outside the sunroom, reporting that he had seen a hummingbird feeding the day before. Now his lips quirk at the memory of how enthusiastically she thanked him.

"We got a second one?" Following the direction of her gaze, he sees one of the tiny creatures dive bombing the other each time it attempts to approach the feeder. "Huh. Probably a territory issue." He slips an arm around her waist. "We could put up another feeder."

Leaning against him, she sighs. "Yeah. That would be good. I think I read somewhere they're pretty territorial."

His fingers slide against the cotton covering her hip as they watch the defender begin to feed, speeding wings surrounding the body that appeared to be hanging in mid-air. Dave isn't a bird watcher but he does see the appeal, the beauty of the hummingbird. And, well, Emily loves them, so that's all he really needs. After a few sips the bird flits away and he pulls her a little closer. "So, what's with the up before dawn routine, Prentiss?"

She shrugs. "I don't know. I woke up a couple of hours ago; just couldn't get comfortable enough to get back to sleep."

Frowning, he turns her so he can look at her. "You couldn't get comfortable?"

Tilting her head slightly, she shrugs again. Her eyes seem a little brighter than usual to him and her normally fair skin seems even paler. "I don't know. I was just restless." Wilting a little under his look, she concedes. "Okay, I don't feel great."

He presses his hand to her forehead. "Do you have a fever?"

"No." Bringing a hand up, she lays it against her cheek, and frowns. "No, I don't."

Snorting, he runs his hand around to the back of her neck. "If you have a fever you can't feel it."

Her voice is just a little bit testy when she replies. "Yes, you can." Then her lips quirk up. "One of my nannies used to do that."

"Do what?" His palm rests against the back of her neck and he doesn't think she's too much warmer than usual, but he can tell she doesn't feel well. He's wondering what his chances of getting her to stay home from work today are. And how suspicious it's going to be if he comes down with whatever she has.

"The back of the neck thing to judge if I was running a fever instead of the forehead." Shaking her hair back, she drops her head to his shoulder. "Did your mom do that?"

"Nonna," he supplies, wrapping his arms around her, pulling her close, then loosening his grip as she tenses in his embrace, grimacing. If she's sore, it could be the flu. "How many nannies did you have?"

"Enough to learn they didn't like moving with each new posting." She presses a kiss to the side of his neck. "Once I got used to it, it was pretty cool. Learned most of my languages from nannies."

Feeling a brief flair of sympathy for the little girl she was, he finds himself worried for the woman she is. "I think you should stay home today." By home he means here in his house, but he doesn't clarify.

"Rossi, I can't." Her voice has the slightest whine to it and he smiles a little. "I have that consult with Violent Crimes and a conference call with the prosecutor on the Trenton case."

"All of that could be put off. If you're coming down with something you should stay in bed." He wonders what all her symptoms are, but he also knows if he presses too hard she'll shut down.

"Probably something I ate," she mumbles.

Giving her a playful shake, he pretends to be indignant since he made her dinner last night. "Hey, now."

Laughing weakly against his neck, she amends. "Something I ate _for lunch_."

"That's better," he grumbles but rubs his cheek against her hair.

"I'll take some aspirin; I'll be fine." She's resting against him, making no move out of his arms and he decides not to push her. It's Friday and if she is coming down with something she can stay in bed all weekend.

Still. "Make a deal with me, Prentiss?"

Already shaking her head, she snorts. "Oh, no, Rossi. The last time I made a deal with you I ended up wearing something the size of a postage stamp and high heels."

He smirks at the memory, then kisses her cheek. "That was a bet, not a deal; not my fault you lost. And for the record, you looked pretty damned fabulous in that postage stamp. I thought I proved that to you at the time."

"You did." Her voice has a smile in it and he can feel her breath against his skin. "So, what's the deal?"

"Promise me if you don't feel better by lunch you'll come home." Again, he doesn't spell out that "home" is the one they're standing in. Idly, he wonders if she's one of those people who is whiney and demanding when they're sick or one that wants to be left the hell alone. He has a feeling he'll be finding out over the next few days and he's oddly grateful for the opportunity.

Drawing back, she looks at him. "A deal implies an exchange of some sort. If I make this promise to you, what do I get in exchange?"

"I'll allow you to complain all weekend about my sexist, chauvinistic, paternalistic and generally overprotective behavior while I take care of you." He is really not pleased with her pallor and only the fact that she's giving him a bit of attitude is keeping him from hauling her to the nearest doctor, kicking and screaming or not. Not that the attitude would stop him if that's what he decided she needed, but if Prentiss is giving him lip, she's not at death's door.

"I'd do that anyway, Dave." Her smile is not as bright as normal, but still has plenty of sass.

His hand cups her face, his thumb stroking across her cheek tenderly. "I know. I just won't argue."

Her eyebrows climb and she purses her lips. "That, I would have to see. " She leans into his touch, her eyes closing. "And you'll put up another hummingbird feeder?"

Kissing her forehead, he nods. "I'll do it tonight."

When he feels something relax in her he wonders if she needs to give herself permission to be sick; as focused and driven as Prentiss is, it wouldn't surprise him. He wishes he knew the thing to say to get her to just stay home, but he doesn't, so he makes himself be satisfied when she nods. "Okay, it's a deal."

***

The first time he tries her cell phone it's just past noon. He's just leaving a meeting at the Hoover Building and he wants to see how she feels, push her on her promise to go home if he needs to. She didn't eaten any breakfast, even refused coffee and had seemed to be moving at half speed while she was getting ready. The call rolls to voice mail after a few rings, but he knows her session with the Violent Crimes guys could easily have run over, so, he doesn't think too much about it.

The second time he tries he's through the snarl of downtown DC traffic, merging onto I-395 and she should be out of her meeting but it doesn't even ring, just goes straight to voice mail. He frowns and wonders if she has packed it in and gone home already. Though if she decided to do that surely she would have called him? He checks his voice mail and finds four messages: one from his third ex-wife looking for a donation to whatever charity she's on the board of these days, two from his publisher about the galleys for the latest book, one from Jimmy asking if he and Emily want to get together for dinner this weekend. But no Prentiss.

He dials again, feeling relief when it rings and there is an almost immediate answer but not the usual crisp "Prentiss" or the more intimate toned "Hey" when she sees it's him calling; instead it's a very wobbly "Hello?"

"Prentiss?"

"It's Garcia, sir." He recognizes her voice now though it sounds off. Is she crying?

"Why are you answering Prentiss's phone?" His chest is tight and he's fighting cold dread. "Where's Emily?"

Garcia swallows so loudly he can hear it, but he feels hyper aware, like he can hear everything, see everything, feel everything. "JJ found her passed out in the Ladies Room." She takes in a shaky breath. "The ambulance just left. Hotch rode with her."

Feeling like he's been simultaneously dowsed with hot oil and ice water, he thinks he might be dreaming; he _hopes_ he's dreaming. "Where is she, Garcia?" He is distantly aware he's yelling, but he doesn't care. "Where the hell is she?"

"They're headed to Potomac Hospital." That makes the most sense; it's the closest hospital to Quantico. "JJ and I are trying to locate a number for her mother. The last number she has for her emergency contact isn't working anymore."

"Check her cell phone history for a call Wednesday night." Emily had had an awkward conversation with her mother shortly before bed night before last and it had taken her a little longer than usual to relax afterwards. He hopes she'll trust him enough to tell him the whole story of her family some day; but it's up to her and he has a few untold stories himself so he doesn't press.

If Garcia wonders how he would know where to look he doesn't give her a chance to comment as he merges onto I-95. "I'm on my way to Potomac. If you hear anything in the meantime, call me."

He barely hears her "Yes, sir," as he ends the call and flips on the SUV's blue lights.

TBC…


	2. Chapter 2

Spoilers all the way through Season 4 including _To Hell…and Back_ 4X25

Disclaimer: I do not own _Criminal Minds_, I am making no profit from the writing of this fic.

smacky30 is such a wonderful beta and she hasn't killed me yet, so, you know, bonus! And she gets credit for the title.

* * *

_Life is a process of becoming, a combination of states we have to go through. Where people fail is that they wish to elect a state and remain in it. This is a kind of death._ --Anais Nin

***

He's shown to a small private waiting area with a few chairs and a sofa covered in cheerful fabrics in primary colors. Hotch is there, looking particularly grim. The younger man doesn't show any surprise at seeing Dave. The whole team will be there eventually they both know. Rossi is only shocked they haven't shown up in the time it took him to get there.

"Do you know anything yet?" Rossi's keeping a tight grip on his emotions; yelling and making a scene are not going to help Emily or get him any more information any more quickly.

"They took her for an ultrasound." Hotch has medical power of attorney for the whole team and JJ has one for Hotch. Considering the nature of their work and the travel involved it's a good precaution. "She started hemorrhaging in the ambulance." His tone is flat and tired and that, more than the word "hemorrhaging," lets Rossi know how bad it must have been. His knees are beyond weak and he sinks into one of the brightly colored chairs.

"Did they give you any idea…" he has no idea how to finish that statement…What's wrong? Why she passed out? Why she was bleeding? If she was going to be all right? Hotch just shakes his head, his jaw clenched and Dave wants to start breaking things. A heavy silence settles between them and Dave tries to remember how to pray.

It's not that he's out of practice; he prays every day. He just can't seem to keep hold of a thought for very long.

_Our Father, who art in heaven…_

_Should have made her stay home this morning. _

_Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name…_

_What so she could be laying there bleeding to death with no one to find her until you got home tonight?_

_Hallowed be…_

_Should have known she wasn't right; should have taken her to the doctor when she turned her nose up at the coffee._

_Thy kingdom come…_

_Please, God, just…please_.

The others arrive en masse less than fifteen minutes later. Both JJ and Garcia have red noses and red rimmed eyes, Morgan looks almost as grim as Hotch, and Reid looks nothing short of shell shocked. If he weren't about to jump out of his skin he'd take a minute to find it ironic. All the death and violence they see, all the pain and ugliness and they barely bat an eye; but this, whatever this is, with Emily and they're all shaken to the core. It was the same with Garcia, Reid and Hotch. But those had been a result of the job in some way and this wasn't and this was…Emily.

There's pitifully little to say. Hotch mentions the scan but not the bleeding and JJ says she left a message for Ambassador Prentiss with her number. Hotch gives terse instructions for everyone to be sure their emergency contact information is updated the next time they're in the office. Then there's _nothing_ to say and the silence becomes tense fast.

When the door opens, they all rise and the doctor who enters looks surprised to see so many people in the room. "You're here for Emiily Prentiss?" At the collective nods, the doctor's eyes sweep over the six of them. "I'm Dr. Robert Porter."

Hotch steps forward and offers his hand, obviously deciding official is likely to get him what he wants faster. "Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner."

Dr. Porter looks at the file in his hands and Rossi notes the reddish brown blood smeared on the doctor's blue scrubs with a sick feeling while the man verifies something in his notes. "You have her POA?"

"Yes," Hotch confirms.

"Is one of you named Dave?" The doctor addresses the question to the room, but he's looking straight at Rossi so he just nods. "Are you…?"

The doctor leaves the question hanging, obviously not sure how to read the room. But the unspoken is clear to Dave whatever form it might have taken (Involved? Lovers? Sleeping together? Damned near living together?) so, he helps the doctor out, gives him what he's looking for."Yes."

The doctor nods. "Can I speak with the two of you outside for a moment?"

When they're all three in the hall with the door firmly closed, Dave shakes the doctor's hand. "David Rossi. How is she?"

"She's surfaced a couple of times and asked for you. She's being prepped for surgery," he holds up a hand when Dave tries to interrupt. "I'll take you to see her for a minute before she goes in."

Hotch's eyes are moving back and forth between Dr. Porter and Dave as if the doctor is speaking a foreign language that only Dave can interpret. "In the meantime, I need to inform Agent Hotchner about her condition. HIPAA forbids me from informing anyone else without her permission or the permission of the person with her power of attorney. "

Both Dave and the doctor turn to look at Hotch expectantly, but he just looks confused and frustrated. "What?"

The doctor checks his notes again, then pinches the bridge of his notes. "Mr. Rossi--"

"Agent Rossi," Hotch corrects and Dave wonders why the hell it matters.

Dr. Porter amends, "Agent Rossi, am I correct in assuming you and Agent Prentiss are involved with each other?"

Hotch's eyes are wide and sharp as Dave confirms, "Yes."

The doctor turns back to Hotch. "I'd like your permission to include Agent Rossi in my evaluation of Agent Prentiss's condition. It impacts him as well."

Rossi is so tense he feels like he's vibrating. He's grateful the doctor is trying to get Hotch to include him, but he's filled with so much dread he's swallowing bile and Hotch just doesn't seem to be getting it. When Dave speaks his voice is urgent and low. "Aaron. Please."

"Yes. Fine." Hotch looks like he'd like nothing more than a few days and a fifth of some nicely aged Scotch to process the last couple of hours, but mainly the last five minutes.

But the doctor doesn't give Hotch the time he needs. "Agent Prentiss has an ectopic pregnancy with implantation in the proximal fallopian tube. " The doctor isn't half a dozen words in before Dave's world is flipped on its side. It takes every bit of self control he has to stay focused on the rest of what the man has to say. "It appears to have invaded the Sampson artery, which is what caused the bleeding. At this point I suspect a rupture, but we couldn't be sure from the ultrasound. We'll go in, remove the implantation, repair the artery and the tube as much as we can."

"Implantation?" Rossi questions. He knows the language is deliberately distant. Make it sound like an invasion, a growth, a cancer; not a fetus, not a baby, not a child. He feels sick.

The doctor gives Rossi a sympathetic look. "Did you know she was pregnant?"

Dave shakes his head, aware of Aaron's still, intense gaze on him. "I don't think she knows. She didn't feel well this morning but she just finished…" He stops himself because he's not going to stand in the hallway of a hospital and discuss Emily's menstrual cycle with Hotch listening, for Christ's sake.

But the doctor seems to have taken his meaning and nods. "The usual symptoms are frequently absent with ectopic pregnancy." He taps the folder across his open palm. "Provided there are no surgical complications she should be fine."

Handing some papers to Hotch, he turns briskly businesslike. "If I could get your signature on the release, Agent Hotchner, I'll take Agent Rossi up to pre-op to see her before she goes under."

Hotch looked less shocked and rung out when Dave saw him in the ER after Foyet had shot him. He's only been back at work a month and the part of Dave that is registering anything other than pain and worry feels a sort of remote sympathy for him. There'll be a lot for him to sort out professionally after this and probably personally, as well, but none of that matters. It all seems so small and distant. There's a brief shuffle as the three of them each reach into their pockets for a pen, but Hotch has his out the fastest and signs the papers up against the wall without comment.

Taking the papers with a murmured, "Thanks," Dr. Porter informs Hotch he'll send someone down to relocate them to the closest surgical waiting room and then he motions for Dave to follow him. When they're in the elevator, he pushes the button for the fifth floor. "She's in and out of consciousness and has probably been started on the pre-surgical sedative. I don't know that she's really aware of what's going on. But it might ease her mind if she knows you're here; lower stress levels generally mean more surgical success and better healing."

Dave really doesn't know how to respond, so he just nods. He hopes to hell she doesn't know what's going on. He wishes she never had to know. "How did this…what caused this?"

The doctor looks at him with kind eyes. "There are several things that could be contributing factors, but more than anything, it's just a fluke. It happens in about one in a hundred pregnancies."

Rossi starts to press him on the contributing factors, but the elevator dings and the door opens. The doctor ushers him out, turning down several side corridors that all look the same, gleaming floors and white walls with tan rails running their length, though the antiseptic hospital smell seems to grow stronger with every turn. Dave tries to pay attention but the slap of the doctor's shoes against the floor matches his own thrumming pulse, beating out one thought, _Em. Em. Em. Em._

Porter pushes through a set of swinging doors and takes a hard right, passes through another door and there she is.

_Jesus._

She appears to be asleep and she is paler than he's ever seen another human being. Well, a live one. Then he clamps down on that horrifying comparison and steps up next to her. The room is full of equipment, and there's an IV pole with two bags hanging from it and the lines snake over the bed rail and down her arm, to where the needle bites into the back of her hand.

The doctor pauses in the doorway. "Just talk to her. Let her know you're here." He gestures down the hall. "They'll be here to take her to the OR in a few minutes."

Rossi barely hears him as he takes Emily's hand in his. Her fingers are cold and he rubs them between both of his palms. He suddenly can't remember if he's ever held her hand before and it makes his chest ache. He knows he must have; they've been lovers for over ten months, surely he has. But he doesn't have a clear memory of it. How could he not remember if he's ever held her hand? They've conceived a child together and he can't remember if he's ever held her hand. Bending, he presses his lips to her fingers. "Emily?" he murmurs. "Em?"

There is no response, no flutter of eyelashes, no answering murmur; she is so still. He studies her sheet draped torso and abdomen, confirming the rise and fall, the in breath and the out breath. Looking around the room, he sees a wheeled stool a few feet away. Not letting go of her hand, he extends his foot, hooking it around the pedestal of the seat and dragging it over to the bedside. He kisses her hand again and sits.

"Em?" Pushing her bangs back, he rubs his thumb slowly, gently over her forehead. "I wish you'd wake up for a second. I'm a little freaked out here and seeing you open your eyes would do a lot to help with that." He isn't sure at this point if she would be considered asleep or unconscious, but he would dearly love for her to open her eyes, just for a minute. "Everything feels a little surreal right now." Huffing out something that would have been a laugh on any other day, he traces over her eyebrows. "The doctor said I should talk to you, but we both know I'm not good at talking except about unsubs and profiling." His finger smoothes tenderly down her cheek. "I don't know what to say, Emily, but I'm here. I'm here, Em."

There's a rustling at the door and he looks up to see a man and a woman, both in surgical scrubs, complete with scrub bonnets enter the room. Neither seems surprised at his presence, and the woman speaks quietly. "We need to get her to the operating room." Touching his shoulder lightly, she smiles tentatively.

Dave rises and backs away from the bed, stuffing his hands in his pockets, watching their efficient movements as they prepare to move Emily, bed and all, out of the room. Clear the lines, grab the IV pole, lock the rails, unlock the brakes. As they begin wheeling her out of the room, the woman spares a glance for him over her shoulder. "I think you're in surgical waiting number 3. Take a left out the door and the first left and it'll be on your right. There's a sign; you can't miss it."

Nodding at her words, his eyes don't move from the dark head on the pillow. He follows them out watching as they go down the long hall until they go through a set of doors and he can no longer see her.

Suddenly, he's exhausted, feeling a little like he's been through a beating or at the very least a building has fallen on him. Slowly, he trudges in the direction the nurse directed him. He pauses at the door, takes a deep breath, and enters. Hotch and JJ are the only two in the room. Hotch looks mostly worried with a bit of pissed off around the edges. JJ is more a combination of anxious with an edge of shock, but she offers him the twitch of her cheeks which was probably supposed to be a smile. He wonders, idly, though not with any real concern, what Hotch told them. "The others went to find some coffee; they'll be back in a little bit."

He nods his thanks and sits down to wait.

***

Garcia, Morgan and Reid return from their excursion with coffees, waters, muffins, granola bars and cookies. Dave's seen so many victims, so much death, and knows the first reaction to grief and tragedy always seems to be to bring food. On one level, he gets it: when there is nothing that can be done, shows of support and love go back to the basics, sustenance and comfort. And he _is_ grateful for their support and friendship, both for him and for Emily; especially, considering they've all just discovered he and Emily have been deceiving them for the better part of a year. On another level though, he wants to throw it all against the wall and tell them to get the fuck out: this grief, this tragedy, this fear, this shock isn't comprehensible to him, and a blueberry muffin or a chocolate chip cookie are not going to make any of it make any more sense. At the moment, nothing makes sense. So, he takes a coffee from Morgan with a murmured "Thanks," and refuses the food.

They wait for a little over two hours with conversation that almost seems normal alternating with tense and oppressive silences. When the surgeon, Dr. Call, appears and informs them everything went well and Emily is doing fine, there is a collective sigh and the very air seems to change, to lighten. Dr. Call has already contacted Emily's regular doctor and she should be by to check on Emily when she does her rounds in the morning.

As luck would have it, Dr. Call has read Dave's books and is a bit of a fan. Rossi suppresses a bit of a shudder and allows he would be happy to autograph any or all of the doctor's copies if he'd like to bring them by Emily's room while she's here. The surgeon agrees with embarrassing enthusiasm.

It's enough to have them teasing him a little as they head up to Emily's room and he's grateful for it, for the sense of normalcy even if it is at his expense. They've been informed she'll be mostly out of it until the morning, but they all want to take a look in on her. Garcia smoothes her hair back, Reid touches her hand and Morgan kisses her forehead. JJ laughs, "I don't think I've ever seen her looking this relaxed" and Dave has to admit it's true. Even asleep, he's never seen her face so peaceful, so completely free from worry and thought.

"I'm assuming you're staying?" Hotch asks quietly.

Rossi doesn't bite off the sharp retort that is his first inclination, just gives him a simple, "Yeah."

"Do you need anything? Your go bag? Food?" Rossi relaxes a little. There's no judgment, no censure in what Aaron is asking; he's being a friend.

"My go bag would be good," Dave allows. He has no intention of leaving Emily's side and he knows he's going to want to change clothes at some point. "It's in my office. It probably wouldn't hurt if you brought hers, too."

"I'll bring them back in a couple of hours." Hotch is watching as JJ and Garcia fuss around Emily's sleeping form, adjusting the bed, the blankets, the window shades.

"Aaron," he doesn't know what to say or how to say it so he just says the simplest thing. "Thank you."

He's not sure if it's his friend or his boss who is looking at him from under severely drawn brows until Aaron offers his hand. "You're welcome, Dave."

They all bid him goodbye. Reid with a wave, Morgan with a handshake and JJ and Garcia both kiss his cheek. JJ thumbs off some lipstick afterwards and smiles, "Don't want Emily to wake up and be jealous." It should have been awkward or pissed him off, but it just makes him thankful they all know each other so well and he suddenly feels this part, at least, will be okay.

As they're leaving, Morgan mutters something about having missed a meeting that afternoon as he opens his cell phone. "Anybody have Strauss's number?"

Garcia asks, "Did you try 6-6-6?" Then adds, wide eyed, when Hotch shoots her a severe look, "Oh, dear, did I say that out loud?"

Dave finds himself smiling as their voices fade down the hall and he pulls the chair up to the bed.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

Spoilers all the way through Season 4 including _To Hell…and Back_ 4X25

Disclaimer: I do not own _Criminal Minds_, I am making no profit from the writing of this fic.

smacky30 is a brilliant beta and a better friend. I am blessed to know her.

Sorry for the delay getting this chapter up...FF wasn't allowing me to upload for a couple of days.

* * *

_Life is a process of becoming, a combination of states we have to go through. Where people fail is that they wish to elect a state and remain in it. This is a kind of death._ --Anais Nin

***

The hours pass and Emily doesn't stir. Periodically, nurses come in and check on her, reading the machines, adjusting the lines, making notes. They offer him smiles and quiet words, "She's doing well." Or "Everything looks good." He smiles politely and nods and wonders how well she'll be doing when she understands what's happened.

It's dark outside when Hotch comes back through the door. His tie is gone and he's unbuttoned his collar. He has both go bags, Dave's briefcase, as well as a spray of sunflowers in a terra cotta vase and several paper bags. He puts the flowers on the side table, where Emily will see them when she wakes and drops the go bags and Dave's briefcase beside his chair. "I thought you might have something to keep you occupied in the briefcase."

"I do. Thanks." He actually has several sets of case notes and one hard copy of the galley for the new book. He doesn't feel like going over it, but it would have to be better than staring at Emily, waiting for her to move and thinking the same things over and over.

Hotch puts another bag on the tray table. "_Sports Illustrated_ and _Petersen's Hunting_; I didn't know what else you might like."

"Thank you." Dave is more than appreciative but he doesn't know how to express it adequately. He's counting on Hotch to know.

"Waiting is tough; I'd rather be the one sick." The younger man pulls up a chair and sits, opening the remaining bag. "Thought we'd have dinner together. Reuben or meatball sub?"

Rossi realizes while he may not be ready for food, Hotch has gone to some trouble and it would be rude to refuse. He's never noticed Aaron order either type of sandwich, he's usually turkey on whole wheat, but he's probably noticed those are Dave's most frequent sandwich orders. "If you don't have a preference, I'll take the Reuben."

Hotch flashes a smile in the dim light as he hands Dave the paper wrapped sandwich. "I'd actually prefer the meatball." He follows the Reuben with a small bag of potato chips and a pickle wedge in plastic wrap.

They don't speak and for a time the only sounds in the room are the rustle of paper and the crinkle of the chip bags. Without much enthusiasm, Dave takes a bite of the sandwich. He wouldn't exactly say he was suddenly _glad_ to be eating, but his body does remind him it had been almost twenty-four hours since his last meal. He takes a second bite with a little more interest.

The meatball sub is half gone when Hotch takes a chip out of the bag with careful consideration. "Ambassador Prentiss returned JJ's call."

Dave winces, rubbing his fingers on a napkin. He'd forgotten about the ambassador. "Please tell me she's not on her way here."

Shaking his head, Hotch drops the chip back in the nearly empty bag and chooses another. "JJ thinks she put her off. We thought that should probably be Emily's decision." The chip crunches under his teeth.

Feeling much more relief than he thinks he probably should, Rossi blows out a breath. "What did JJ tell her?"

"She said Emily's fallopian tube ruptured and she had to have surgery but she was going to be fine." Aaron crumples the bag with the remaining chips and tosses it into the trash. "She explained that Emily would mostly be out of it until at least tomorrow and that a friend was staying at the hospital with her."

He blinks. It was perfect; enough information that the ambassador doesn't become suspicious, none of it was a lie, and it allows Emily to decide if she wants her mother to come or not. Dave has always known JJ was good at her job, but he had no idea how deftly she could handle a precarious situation until this moment; he's impressed. He also feels like he's done nothing but repeat himself today. "Thank you."

"Thank JJ. She did a great job with it." Hotch is wrapping up the remnants of his sandwich and wiping his mouth.

"She did and I will." This feeling of owing people, needing help is not one he's used to nor is it one he particularly likes, but he knows this is what it's like to be part of a team. It's not something they leave at the office; they've seen too much, been through too much together to be able to draw those lines. They have to care about each other, have each others' backs, keep an eye out, take care of each other. When one falls they all suffer. It's just that he's used to being the one doing the supporting, offering the helping hand.

He looks at Hotch and realizes the younger man has to know on how many levels he's struggling with the events of the day. For fifteen minutes today, he had a family and he isn't exactly sure how he feels about that or about the loss of it. Not to mention the worry about Emily and the sudden revelation of their relationship to the team. It all settles back on him and he feels unutterably weary again. "I'm sorry you found out this way. If you want my badge, you've got it."

Hotch grimaces. "Don't be ridiculous."

"You don't have anything to say about this?" He's not sure why he's pressing. It's not the time or the place, but it seems to be the only thing he has any control over at the moment and he needs to feel something is settled, even if it's settled badly.

Surprising Rossi, Hotch shrugs nonchalantly. "What's to say? There are rules against this; you did it anyway. You never let it interfere with your work as far as I can tell." He lets out a sigh. "This going to be hard enough on the two of you; don't worry about the job."

Dave can't imagine how shocked he must look. It must be quite a sight because Hotch breaks into a smile and lightly smacks his bicep. "The worst thing is how stupid the rest of us feel for not spotting it earlier. Morgan may never forgive you for that alone."

If Morgan being pissed is the worst thing that happens out of this, Dave figures he'll be pretty damn lucky. Still, the perspective is good; there are things more important than the job. He stops himself from thanking Hotch again; it feels no where near adequate enough. When this is over, when he can actually think a thought that doesn't run back in on itself, he'll think of something to do to express his gratitude. So, he just gives a tired smirk and says, "I can live with that."

Hotch stays for a while and they talk about the office, the case they just wrapped, Jack and whether Hotch is going to purchase the condo he's been renting since the divorce. When he rises to leave, he rests his hand against Rossi's shoulder briefly. "If you, or Emily, need anything, call me. I'll be around all weekend."

This time he doesn't stop himself. "Thank you for…everything today."

"It's what friends do." His voice is soft and calm and Dave watches him walk out knowing what he says is true and promising himself to be a better friend to Hotch, to all of them.

The next time one of the nurses comes in she brings him a blanket and a pillow, telling him the recliner isn't half bad for sleeping; they were designed especially for people staying with patients. After he brushes his teeth and slips off his shoes, Dave spreads the blanket out over himself and decides, while it's not his top of the line king size bed, as tired as he is, it'll do the job.

He sleeps, but not deeply. Every time the nurses come to check on Emily he wakes, watches and then sinks back into sleep again.

It's just after four when he wakes to the sound of whimpering and the rustling of bed clothes. "Em?" He struggles to pull himself out of the recliner. "Emily, are you all right?"

Her eyes are open, but he has the feeling she's not awake. "The hummingbirds, they're fighting." She's sobbing and it is heart rending.

"Em? Are you in pain?" His heart is pounding as he reaches frantically for the call button as Emily continues to cry.

"I'll be good, I promise, I'll be good. Make them stop fighting." Gasping, she tries to sit up and then cries out and he knows that had to hurt when she collapses back to the bed. "Just make them stop."

He knows she's not really conscious and what she's saying doesn't mean anything. But he's still trying to soothe her, brushing her hair back, reaching for her hand, but he doesn't know what else to do. _Where the fuck is the nurse? _ "Emily, can you hear me? It's Dave."

Emily stares into his eyes, tears falling down her cheeks. "I'll be good, I promise. Please make them stop."

The nurse comes briskly through the door. "How are we doing?"

"She's…upset." His first inclination was to say hysterical, but that was so far out of character for Emily and this was just on the edge of that, so he couldn't. "She tried to sit up and I think she hurt herself."

"Emily?" The nurse's voice was solid, firm. "Are you in pain?"

Emily turns her head toward the nurse. "They were fighting, they didn't mean to hurt me."

"I know." The woman's voice turns soothing, gentle. "I'm going to give you something for the pain, okay? You'll go back to sleep but when you wake up, you'll feel better." The nurse pats her arm and presses the button on what Dave assumes is the morphine pump, then turns to one of the machines beside the bed and presses some buttons.

Emily nods, repeating. "I'll be good."

Even after all these years, everything he's seen, Dave has never felt such gut wrenching emotion. "Emily." He kisses her fingers, rubs her hand over his cheek. "Em." But all the things he wants to say are not meant for here, they're meant for candlelight and wine and slow kisses, not this cold, sterile hospital room, not this strange place where he isn't even sure she knows him, where she's going to wake up to tragedy in the morning. He says only what he knows means anything in that moment. "I'm here."

Her head turns back toward him and he can see she's calmer already, awake now but drowsing again. "Dave?"

Thumbing the tears off her cheeks, he nods. "Hey."

Her eyelids lower slowly, then rise just as slowly. "Hey." She gives a tiny smile and her eyes close again. "I was dreaming."

"Yeah?" He presses his lips to the back of her hand. "Want to tell me about it?"

"You're here," she slurs, then she's quiet.

The nurse pats his shoulder. "It's the anesthesia. Some people have a rough time processing when they come out of it. Sometimes they get emotional, sometimes they get sick. Believe me, a little confusion is better than vomiting with her incision. When she wakes in the morning, it'll be better."

Dave swallows but doesn't let go of Emily's hand. "I hope so."

"She won't even remember this in the morning." Dave thinks that's just fine, because he's going to try as hard as he can to forget it, he only hopes he's able to. But then, there may be worse things to face tomorrow.

After the nurse leaves, he settles back in his chair, but he feels wide awake now. Adrenaline rush, he knows. He also knows it's going to be awhile before he'll be able to relax enough to sleep again. Listening to the sounds, even as hushed as they are, from the hall he feels the minutes pass. Emily is not as motionless as she had been throughout the evening and while he feels more alert with every one of her movements, he's glad she's not as unmoving as she was before.

Emily can be quiet and there's a certain peace in being with her in their down time; but she's never really completely still. She's so full of life, so vibrant, even when she's not talking his eyes are still drawn to her, he feels her presence in the room. Her stillness since the surgery has been slightly unnerving and he's glad for her little movements, the turn of her head, the shift of her hand, the small kick of her foot beneath the covers.

The sky is starting to lighten, turning from black to grey and he wonders with a feeling of incredulity that borders on shock if it's only been a day since he woke up without Emily in bed beside him. There's more activity in the hall outside her room, though it's still muted, and he wonders if he'd be able to get a cup of coffee somewhere at this time of the morning but he doesn't really want to leave in case Emily wakes again. Deciding he'll wait until the nurse comes back and he gets her opinion on when Emily might wake again, he relaxes in the chair and without meaning to, slides back into sleep.

***

"Hello, Emily."

The woman's voice is not one he knows but it brings him out of sleep. There's a moment of complete disorientation when he opens his eyes, though not from his surroundings; he spends a generous portion of his life waking up in an ever changing array of hotel rooms, after all. What is startling is the sight of Emily, sitting up in the raised bed, eyes open and brightly aware. It's pretty clear she has been awake for at least a little while.

"How are you doing?" The woman the voice belongs to is grey haired and dark skinned, dressed in a lab coat and perusing what Dave assumes is Emily's chart.

Before Emily can answer, he moves the chair from reclined to sitting, drawing both women's attention. Emily blinks at him as he stands and then sort of, but not quite, smiles. "Hey. You're awake."

"Hey." He smiles at her, he hopes reassuringly, smoothes his hair down with both hands and looks at the clock: 7:25. Stepping forward he offers his hand to the woman, "David Rossi."

Her handshake is firm, strong. "Anu Sharma. I am Emily's physician."

He moves back to Emily's bedside, lightly touching the curve of her hand. "How are you feeling?"

Her eyes move back and forth between Dave and Dr. Sharma. "Sore, groggy and really confused. What the hell happened to me?"

Dave and the doctor share a grim look, then she steps closer to the bed. "There is no pretty way to put this, Emily. You suffered a ruptured fallopian tube and damaged Sampson artery due to an ectopic pregnancy." Emily's eyes are huge and dark in her pale face and Dave hurts at her expression. He grasps her hand as the doctor continues speaking. "You underwent emergency surgery yesterday afternoon. The implantation was removed and the artery was repaired. Because of the rupture, part of the tube had to be removed as well, but it was a relatively small portion."

Her lips look stiff when she moves them. "Wait." She sucks in a breath. "Wait. Pregnancy? You're saying I was pregnant?"

"Yes." Dr. Sharma nods sadly. "But it was in the fallopian tube instead of the uterus. It was never a viable pregnancy."

"No," Emily shakes her head. "I wasn't pregnant." She looks at Dave a little desperately, then back to the doctor. "I…we use birth control, condoms every time. I just finished my period."

"No method of birth control is foolproof, you know that, Emily. And menses doesn't always stop with ectopic pregnancy." The doctor pats Emily's hand. "I know this is difficult, it's a lot to absorb all at once."

Dave aches at the look of pain and shock on Emily's face. He wants to say something, wants to offer her comfort but he doesn't know what to say. All the times he's spoken words of solace and sympathy to strangers mock him now as trivial and meaningless. He squeezes her hand and she turns toward him looking so lost he doesn't know how he keeps breathing.

Dr. Sharma looks directly at him. "Would you mind stepping outside? I'd like to do a quick exam."

"Sure, sure." He slides two fingers under Emily's chin and tilts her face up. "I'll be right outside, okay?"

Still looking quite stunned, she nods and he surprises her, and maybe himself, by pressing a quick kiss to her lips before leaving the room. He steps out into the hall, pulling the door behind him, slumping against the wall.

It's only a few minutes before the doctor calls him back in. Emily is still pale and her eyes are wide, but she looks less disbelieving but very sad.

"Dr. Call will be by later today, I'm sure, but I imagine if there's no sign of infection or any other complication he'll release you tomorrow." Dr. Sharma is making notes in the chart. "Call my office on Monday to schedule a visit for late in the week, all right?"

Emily murmurs an absent assent and Dave makes a mental note to make sure she does so. The doctor pats Emily's arm in a motherly fashion and shakes Dave's hand again before departing.

Once the doctor leaves, Dave stops thinking and just acts on instinct. He sits beside her on the bed and pulls her as close as the IV lines and limited space will allow, wrapping his arms around her. When she starts crying softly against his shoulder he is, strangely, relieved. He doesn't say anything, just holds her and lets her cry, rubbing his hand over her back and pressing kisses to her hair.

TBC…


	4. Chapter 4

Spoilers all the way through Season 4 including _To Hell…and Back _4X25

Disclaimer: I do not own _Criminal Minds_, I am making no profit from the writing of this fic.

smacky30 is the best beta anyone could ask for…she corrects my punctuation, deletes my excessive semi-colons, helps me with clarity…she generally and thoroughly kicks ass.

Because FF wouldn't let me log in for a couple of days, there are multiple chapters today.

* * *

_Life is a process of becoming, a combination of states we have to go through. Where people fail is that they wish to elect a state and remain in it. This is a kind of death._ --Anais Nin

***

Dave finds himself standing in the hall again a little over two hours later when Dr. Call comes by to examine Emily. Dave autographed the surgeon's copies of his books while reminding himself to be gracious. Prentiss looked bewildered and darkly amused as she sat in bed listening to the doctor discuss _Deviance_ with Rossi. When Dave had finally been able to get the man back on track and focused on Emily, Dr. Call explained what had happened during the surgery and affirmed Dr. Sharma's estimation that Emily would more than likely be released the next day. When he was ready to examine her he called in a nurse and asked Dave to leave the room.

Leaning against the wall for the second time in such a short period, Dave blinks a few times at the sight of Spencer Reid striding down the hall with a bouquet of brightly colored mylar "Get Well" and pastel latex balloons bouncing carelessly behind him. He comes to a halt awkwardly beside Rossi. "Did you get kicked out?"

Dave shakes his head and offers a slight smile. "The surgeon is examining her."

Spencer purses his lips and gives two absent nods. "Your number one fan?" He gives a sly grin at Rossi's glare. "How is Emily today?"

Dave quirks an eyebrow. "Stunned, sad, sore." He shrugs. "But coping." Of course, that's just an educated guess or maybe wishful thinking on his part since they haven't really talked since Dr. Sharma left.

"You know, the official figures for ectopic pregnancy are around 1 in 100, but there are theories that a lot more than that spontaneously abort before they're discovered to be ectopic. Did you know it's estimated that as much as 40% of all pregnancies end in miscarriage, just most happen before the woman realizes she's pregnant and the miscarriage masquerades as her usual menstrual cycle?" Rossi suppresses an exhausted laugh; the amount of information Spencer Reid can vomit out on any given topic at a moment's notice can be both daunting and comforting. "Once a woman has a tubal pregnancy her chances of having another are about 10%. Which is really ironic considering it almost always reduces the probability of conception. And the probability of a tubal pregnancy rises as the woman's age increases. Of course, 10 to 15 percent of women who've had an ectopic pregnancy go on to suffer from infertility."

Dave feels a pinch in the middle of his chest. He knows Spencer often speaks without thinking about the impact of his words, but he really can't take any chances here. "Reid," he barks the younger man's name out, then makes himself rein it in. Reid is just being Reid. He smoothes his voice and attempts to speak without any kind of censure. "I am asking you, as Emily's friend, not to quote those statistics to her."

Suddenly, Reid looks absolutely stricken and he stutters. "I…I'm sorry."

Rossi waves a hand at him in a negating gesture; he knows there was no malice, not even really thoughtlessness. Because Reid has been told all of his life his intellect and memory are his greatest assets, he tends to think of them as his only assets. He gives information as other people would words of comfort. He's been told his brain is so big so often, he forgets he has a heart, too. "It's all right, Spencer. I understand. Just, please, be careful around Emily with this stuff, okay?"

"Yeah, of course. I'm sorry." He shoves his hands into his pockets and the balloons bump hollowly against the wall and ceiling.

"It's fine, Reid." Dave is trying to be reassuring but he's not sure if he's pulling it off. He honestly doesn't know if he could be any more exhausted. One of the nurses had brought him a cup of coffee earlier, but it had been about half the strength he was used to. He thinks he'd probably give just about anything for a good cup of coffee right now.

Reid's voice is tentative when he speaks again and Dave isn't sure if it's because he's feeling chastised or if he is really hesitant to ask. "How are you doing?"

And that's the question Dave knows he's been avoiding as hard as he can since yesterday afternoon. "I'm tired."

Reid just looks at him with that open, expectant look that he has when he knows there's more to it and doesn't speak.

Rossi sighs. "I'm probably too tired to know how I am." He pauses, then continues. "I'm worried about Emily. I'm still processing everything else."

Reid looks a little surprised to have received such a frank answer, but he nods understandingly. "Did you get any sleep?"

Shaking his head, Rossi runs a hand over his beard. "Not much."

"I…" he hesitates, then rushes on, "I could sit with Emily if you want to go home and sleep for awhile."

Dave shakes his head; he's not leaving. "Thanks, Reid, but I need to be here."

The younger man nods in understanding. "Yeah. I thought so. But if you change your mind, the offer stands." The timber of his voice is more serious and slow than anything Dave remembers hearing from him before and Dave knows if he did change his mind, he could trust Spencer to sit with Emily.

The elevator down the hall dings and Morgan steps out. He catches sight of them and raises his chin in their direction. Walking toward them at a measured pace, he's balancing an obviously full cup of coffee in one hand and a cheerful arrangement of purple, white and yellow daisies in a basket in the other.

"Hey, Morgan." Reid bounces a little and the balloons rumble with his movements.

"Hey, Kid." Morgan nods. "Rossi."

Dave suddenly remembers Hotch's words from the night before about Morgan never forgiving him and he wonders if he really might be pissed. He tries to imagine how he would feel and can't imagine he would feel much of anything. They'd all known about JJ and Will before JJ had been willing to admit it but they hadn't let on. Privacy was more of an illusion than anything when you worked with a group of profilers and they all counted on each other to respect the illusion. Dave has always assumed someone at least suspected about him and Emily; there were days when he felt so completely smitten, he was sure he was wearing his heart on his sleeve in flashing neon. Until yesterday, he'd never really considered they could have been that good at hiding their relationship.

When Morgan reaches them, he extends the coffee towards Rossi. "If you've already had some, you can toss it, no hard feelings."

Gratefully, Rossi accepts the cup and immediately removes the lid. "God bless you, Derek." He inhales the rich fragrance of the dark brew, then blows across the steaming surface, his exhale causing a gentle wave effect over the liquid. He takes a sip, unmindful of the slight burn to his tongue. "I was about to offer Spencer a thousand dollars to find the closest Starbucks and get me a decent cup of coffee."

Reid straightens, feigning enthusiasm. "I still can."

"Beat you to it, balloon boy." Morgan tugs on the ribbons clutched in the younger man's hand causing the balloons to jostle against each other. "Why are we hanging out in the hall?"

"The president of Rossi's fan club is in with her right now," Reid provides casually and Morgan snorts. Rossi just shakes his head and takes another drink of coffee.

The door opens just then and the doctor emerges from Emily's room, his newly autographed books in the crook of his arm. "Everything looks good. If there's no sign of infection she can go home tomorrow." He touches the top book on the stack. "I can't tell you how thrilled I am to have gotten these signed and the opportunity to talk to you about some of it has really been amazing. I am going to reread _Deviance_ now that I have a more personal insight into the subject matter. I hope that…" His pager beeps at him and he glances at it, frowning. "Damn. I've got to go. It was an honor to meet you, Dave." He shakes Rossi's hand and nods to Reid and Morgan who look like they would laugh if they thought they could get away with it.

"Not a word," Dave threatens when the surgeon is sufficiently far down the hall. They both flash grins and he has to clamp down on a smile of his own. "Hold on a second, let me make sure she's up for company." The two men nod and he steps back inside the room.

It looks as though the nurse is helping Emily back into bed and Dave notices the IV and other tubes have been disconnected and she's wearing her sleep pants and tank top from her go bag. "You're unhooked."

She gives him a tired, sad smile. "Yeah."

The nurse adjusts the pillow behind Emily's head. "She's doing well. We'll do pain management with pills from here on out." She arranges the call button within easy reach over the bed rail. "We'll get her up and walking in an hour or so."

Dave knows his eyebrows are so far up his face feels stretched. "Really? This soon."

The nurse nods. "Best thing for her." She pats Emily's foot. "Call if you need anything."

"Are you up for some visitors?" He's suddenly not sure if this is a good idea; she actually looks a little worse than she did before the doctor came in, but she still nods.

"Sure. That would be nice."

It does turn out to be nice. Morgan and Reid come in like an unexpected comedy team. They don't talk about what happened the day before, not about the pregnancy, the surgery, the scare, or finding out about her and Dave. Instead they poke at each other and at Dave, making her smile. Spencer pulls a daisy out of her ear. Morgan says he saw the sleight of hand and Spencer counters by pulling two daisies out of Morgan's ears and he growls, "Quit depleting the arrangement, man."

They stay for less than an hour but it's good. Emily is obviously more relaxed even if she appears tired. Dave is once again feeling frustrated at the limited range of language in expressing his gratitude. Reid and Morgan both seem to understand; Morgan shakes his hand and claps him on the shoulder and Reid gives him the tentative hand raise and awkward smile he uses when he "gets" something.

The nurse insists Emily get up and walk for a bit, but Dave doesn't like it; she's obviously drained and he thinks she should rest. He starts to argue with the nurse but Emily just shakes her head at him. "I want to." He knows that's not exactly true; she's exhausted and in some pain. What he knows about Emily though is her absolute hatred of feeling weak or needy. If getting up and walking around is going to help her return to normal more quickly, then that is what she's going to do, no matter how she feels physically. Probably, also knowing Emily, she'd rather push herself physically than have to deal with any of the emotional baggage and there's bound to be a shit ton with this.

So, she walks. He keeps his arm around her as they move up the hall and back. It's slow and a little tense, but she makes it on her own steam. He's relieved when he helps her back into bed and he's not surprised when she's asleep within minutes.

She wakes when they bring lunch in; she drinks some broth but ignores almost everything else on the tray. He frowns but doesn't give her a hard time about it. It's a struggle to not hover or smother; he has to stop himself from asking how she feels or if she needs anything every five minutes. Normally he might not stop himself, but at this point he's afraid if he does something wrong she will shut down and he won't be able to help her through this. Though, honestly, he doesn't know what "through this" looks like.

Garcia and JJ show up with magazines and more flowers shortly after her lunch tray is removed and the two of them go on her second walk with her, one on either side. Dave trails just far enough behind to give them a small sense of privacy, but close enough to be able to step forward to catch her if things should suddenly start to go badly. They're teasing Emily about developing a slow model's walk and her sleep pants being the height of catwalk fashion. Emily is smiling at their light hearted chatter even though the smile is tinged with sorrow. When they reach the end of the hall, she leans against the wall, resting for a moment, pressing her hand against her abdomen.

JJ catches Rossi's eye and grins. Then she leans in close and whispers to Emily, who looks up and into Dave's face, frowning. He raises his eyebrows and her face softens into something so incredibly tender even as she nods at JJ. He knows he's just been discussed and he should probably be upset or offended but just seeing that look on her face directed at him makes his chest squeeze, makes him willing to fight his way through hell to get to her, just to see it again.

As they walk back, JJ fills Emily in on what she told her mother the day before and that turns out to be a very good thing, since the ambassador calls the room phone less than fifteen minutes after the two women leave. Rossi is tense during the call, he sort of feels like he's on the edge of doing battle, but Emily handles the ambassador well, reiterating what JJ told her without expanding on it and reassuring her she is fine, she has someone staying with her and no, Ambassador Prentiss should definitely not come to Washington.

Surprisingly, Emily doesn't seem that concerned. "She just wanted to know I wasn't dying." She yawns. "And it doesn't make sense for her to come all the way back here just to take care of me."

Dave leans over her and presses a kiss to her forehead, softly. "You've got me for that."

Her smile is gentle as she traces a finger along his jaw. "Yeah. I've got you." She cups his cheek. "I'm pretty glad about that part."

Turning his head, he kisses her wrist. "I'm..." He shakes his head. "I wouldn't be anywhere else."

She pulls his head down and kisses him. "Thank you."

His throat is too thick to speak, so he just blinks his stinging eyes and kisses her again.

TBC…


	5. Chapter 5

Spoilers all the way through Season 4 including _To Hell…and Back_ 4X25

Disclaimer: I do not own _Criminal Minds_, I am making no profit from the writing of this fic.

smacky30 is simply awesome. The end.

* * *

_Life is a process of becoming, a combination of states we have to go through. Where people fail is that they wish to elect a state and remain in it. This is a kind of death._ --Anais Nin

***

It's almost nine o'clock when JJ shows up again in a pair of worn grey sweat pants and a soft pink shirt with her go bag slung over her shoulder. Emily smiles at her. "You're early."

"Henry went down easier than I thought and there's hardly any traffic. Weird for a summer Saturday, you know?" She drops her bag next to the recliner and smirks at him.

"Somebody want to tell me what's going on?" In the grand scheme of things, the day hasn't been too bad, certainly nowhere near as bad as it could have been, but he's beat and had sort of been hoping Emily would be ready to go to sleep soon. He's pretty sure he'll be able to sleep much better tonight.

"All due respect, sir, you're being kicked out." JJ looks inordinately pleased with herself.

"The hell I am," he snorts.

"'Fraid so. Henry's home with his dad, already asleep, he's never going to even know I'm gone." She crosses her arms over her chest and leans against the wall looking smug. "Emily and I are going to have an all girl slumber party and you are not invited."

Now he understands what the exchange in the hall had been about. Emily looks amused at JJ handling him so lightly and he sort of feels like he's been played.

"Dave," Emily's voice is soft, but firm. "Go home. Have a drink." She waves carelessly. "Have a bottle. Get some sleep. You'll have plenty of time to be my nursemaid after I get out of here tomorrow."

He wants to argue; he certainly doesn't want to leave. As long as he's here, he can think about Emily and how to take care of her, not about what all of this means to him. But then he thinks maybe Emily needs this, needs someone that's not him to talk to. She hasn't shown any inclination to talk about either the pregnancy or the loss of it; he's not sure if she doesn't want to, maybe isn't ready to or if she thinks he doesn't want to hear her grief. He can't figure out what's going on in her head and at least part of that is probably because he doesn't know what's going on in his own. So, yeah, having someone besides him around might be good for her.

Still, he's not terribly gracious about it as he gathers his things, but it's mostly for show, because it would be entirely out of character for him to be gracious when he's been told what to do. JJ is just short of laughing and Emily looks at him fondly, prompting him to kiss her full on the mouth right under JJ's very surprised nose. "Sleep well."

She blushes but runs her thumb over his lips. "You, too."

He spears JJ with a look. "Speak with you outside for a minute?"

When they're standing in the hall, he pinches the bridge of his nose. "You'll call me if anything changes?"

"Of course." The look she gives him is franker than he would like. "You look awful." He winces, but she keeps going. "This going to be hard enough with just her recovering. You don't need to wear yourself out, too. When this really hits her…" She stops and starts again. "Take tonight and get some rest without having to think about anyone else. Go to the grocery store, put fresh sheets on the bed, whatever. But you need to take some time."

"I know." His nod is slow, but he knows she's right; doesn't mean he has to like it. "Thank you, JJ." He wonders if he sounds as defeated as he feels.

Whether he does or not, JJ must sense he needs something and her voice is thoughtful when she speaks again. "I know it's none of my business, but you and Emily? It makes a lot of sense."

He's not exactly sure what that means, but he's oddly touched. "Yeah?"

Touching his arm, she grins. "Yeah."

"Call me…"

"If anything changes, yeah, got it." Nodding, she makes shooing motions with her hands. "Now, go."

Narrowing his eyes at her, he grumbles. "When did you get so bossy?"

"I always have been." She rolls her eyes. "Some profiler you are. Go."

He takes himself down the hall and out to the parking lot. Once he gets to the SUV he can't remember what life outside that hospital room is like and he has an overwhelming urge to go back inside. But he doesn't; he starts the engine and dials Jimmy's number instead.

Jimmy and Emily like each other. They've had Jimmy over to the house for dinner several times and he and Emily have bonded over giving Dave hell. There's an easy friendship between the two and Dave sort of knew he was in deep when he got so much satisfaction over the two of them getting along so well. Emily wanted to thank the priest for his help with solving the mystery of Matthew Benton's death and Jimmy, for his part, had not been surprised when the first dinner invitation was issued. "Called that one before I ever set eyes on her."

He answers the phone on the second ring and starts to give Dave grief over not returning his call on Friday, but Dave stops him before he gets wound up. "Emily had to have emergency surgery yesterday," he pulls in a shuddering breath. "She was pregnant."

"Was pregnant? Oh, Dave." There's a slight pause before he continues. "Is she okay?" There's no mistaking the concern in his voice. Rossi hands his parking ticket and a twenty dollar bill to the lot attendant.

Dave isn't sure how to answer that. "She's…yeah…physically. I mean, it was surgery, so she's not running any marathons, but they say she'll be fine." He exits when the mechanical arm rises.

Jimmy has never been afraid to ask the hard questions. "What about emotionally?"

He sighs and flips on his turn signal. "Jury's still out."

"What about you?" The priest's voice is kind and knowing.

Rossi laughs, entirely without humor. "The jury is even further out."

Jimmy makes a sympathetic noise. "Where are you?"

"On my way to you." Moving his head from side to side, he grimaces when his neck cracks audibly.

"Should I put on the coffee or get out the Scotch?"

Rossi snorts. "I am not drinking that cheap crap you call Scotch. Be out front in fifteen minutes. I'm buying."

They go to a quiet bar not far from Jimmy's church. They've been there before. It's upscale and a little quieter than the average Saturday night bar. The bartender and waitresses know Jimmy and they remember Rossi; he buys the premium brands and he's a good tipper. They put them in a booth in the back and take their order immediately.

Dave stares at the glass when it's put down in front of him and he wonders if he really wants the drink. He's bone tired and wrung out. The last thing he needs to cap this weekend off is a DUI or, worse, passing out at the wheel and killing somebody. Idly, he turns the glass in a circle on the dark wood of the table and tells Jimmy about the past thirty-six hours.

He's not sure if it's a personality trait or something Jimmy learned from thirty years in the priesthood, but he's a hell of a good listener. He asks a few questions, but mainly just listens while he sips his own drink. And Dave's enough of a listener himself to understand he is revealing far more than the events of the past two days, but he finds he doesn't care, he needs to get it out.

When Rossi ends with JJ chasing him out of the hospital, Jimmy opens his hands in a questioning gesture. "What are you going to do?"

Dave looks into his untouched glass and shrugs. "Take her home tomorrow, take some time off work, make sure she's okay."

Jimmy makes a "bullshit" face at him, but doesn't speak as the waitress approaches. He orders another Talisker and Dave orders a cup of coffee which surprises the waitress but makes Jimmy smirk.

The waitress moves away and Jimmy taps the table. "What you need to do, Davey, is marry that girl and give her some babies."

Rossi glowers at him. "You're a priest. It's in the rules you have to say that." The Scotch is suddenly looking better and Jimmy is not letting him off the hook by filling in the silence. He probably sounds more frustrated than he means to when he answers. "You know I'm not cut out to be a father."

"I don't know anything of the kind." Rossi snorts and Jimmy salutes him with his glass. "But let's say for a minute, just for arguments sake, it's true and David Rossi is not cut out to be a father. Are you going to let her go so she can find somebody who is?"

His face tightens and he knows his look could probably cut steel. "It's not that simple."

Jimmy shrugs. "Isn't it? Do you think Dr. Reid's information is wrong? This won't impact her fertility? That the older she gets the harder it will be to conceive? Emily's what? Thirty-eight? Thirty-nine?"

Rossi is not sure whether he wants to punch the wall or his friend's face but he definitely wants to punch something. He thinks the feel of the skin over his knuckles splitting from an impact into something hard would be a nice distraction at the moment. The waitress puts down Jimmy's drink and attempts to smile at Dave but he continues to glare so she places his coffee in front of him, then hurries away.

"Those numbers are kind of narrow, don't you think, Dave?" Sometimes those hard questions Jimmy's not afraid of asking are a little harder than Rossi wants to face.

"This was a mistake," he mutters, reaching for his wallet.

Jimmy shakes his head. "I'm not telling you anything you don't already know, Dave."

The hell of it is, Jimmy's not wrong, both about what Dave knows and the reality of the situation. He drops his wallet on the table and tries to think if there's a word in the English language that could possibly describe now fucking exhausted he is. "I can't be a father. I'm too old."

The other man looks at him with something close to amusement on his face. "Think about who you're talking to and try again."

Dave shakes his head at himself. He'd forgotten; Jimmy's mother had been his father's third wife. He'd been born when his dad was in his early sixties. The priest actually had two nephews older than he was. "I'm too selfish." He picks up the coffee cup and takes a drink, immediately grimacing at the taste. They might have great Scotch here but their coffee was shit.

Jimmy nods. "That's probably close to the truth. Or I would have said so a year or so ago. But you're not as selfish as you seem to think you are." He takes a taste from his glass and the silence stretches out between them filled in by the noise of the other patrons' laughter and quiet conversation. Finally, Jimmy looks at him with something like curiosity. "Tell me something? If this had been one of the ninety-nine times in a hundred, instead of the one fluke and Emily was pregnant right now, how would you feel?"

The answer is somewhere in the jumble of emotions inside his chest, Rossi knows, but he's damned if he can get down to it. There's another silence between them, but this time his thoughts own thoughts fill it, when he asks himself what he would feel and Jimmy just waits patiently, making the silence safe, if not comfortable. "I don't know. From the second I found out about it, it wasn't…" He swallows and shrugs. "I haven't thought about it in those terms; there was never the reality of a full term pregnancy to consider." He doesn't meet Jimmy's gaze as he remembers those moments Friday afternoon, not just the fear for Emily, but the feeling of sadness and regret.

Jimmy shakes his head, sadly, and Rossi thinks, somewhat sourly and unfairly, guilt is another thing he's gotten good at as a priest. "If you have to lie to me, that's one thing, Davey, but don't lie to yourself."

Dave blows out a frustrated, gusty sigh. "It wouldn't matter how I felt. I would have done the right thing."

"I know you would have." The look on his face is pretty damn close to smug and Dave decides the next time he's not so god damn _tired_ he's going to kick Jimmy Davison's ass. The priest leans forward. "So, do the right thing now. Either let her go or get ready to become a father."

He starts to say he doesn't even know for sure if Emily wants to have children, but he does know; he's always known. His anger is gone suddenly and he just wants to sleep. "Tell me why we're friends again?"

Jimmy laughs. "I can't remember." He shakes his head. "Either way, Davey, you gotta do the right thing."

TBC…

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A/N: In addition to ff not letting me post for a couple of days (hence the multiple posts today) it is not letting me respond to the most recent reviews. I just want to tell everyone who has reviewed, I really appreciate it. Thank you.


	6. Chapter 6

Spoilers all the way through Season 4 including _To Hell…and Back_ 4X25

Disclaimer: I do not own _Criminal Minds_, I am making no profit from the writing of this fic.

If there are words in the English language to express how much gratitude I have for all smacky30 has done for me during the writing and posting of this story, I don't know what they are. Let's put it this way: without her encouragement I wouldn't have started writing it, without her hand holding I never would have posted. If there has been something in this story you liked, she should probably get the credit for it.

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_Life is a process of becoming, a combination of states we have to go through. Where people fail is that they wish to elect a state and remain in it. This is a kind of death._ ---Anais Nin

***

He takes JJ's advice and stops at a 24 hour Giant on the way home to stock up. It's not as if the cupboards are bare, but he'd like to have a variety of things on hand. Emily isn't a fussy eater, but she hadn't seemed at all interested in food today. And, yeah, that's understandable, but she's going to need to eat to get her strength back.

There are peppers and an eggplant along with a ridiculous amount of canned soup and at least three types of pasta in his shopping cart by the time he gets to the meat counter. He chooses some mild sausage and a chicken. He can do a lot with either of those, plus he's pretty sure he has some ground beef in the freezer at home. Feeling as though he's missing something major, he pushes the cart up and down the aisles, periodically throwing random items in as they strike his fancy.

It's when he's on the pet aisle and he realizes he has no reason to be there that he decides he needs to wrap this excursion up. _Ice cream for Emily_, he thinks, _then I'm done_. He turns his shopping cart towards the frozen foods and the bird feeders catch his eye. The memory of her waking in the hospital last night, crying over the hummingbirds, sweeps over him like a summer storm and he has trouble breathing for a minute. The idea of her hurting, _hurts_.

Checking his phone to make sure JJ hasn't called and he missed it, he shakes his head; there are no missed calls. Em and JJ are both probably fast asleep; he hopes so, anyway.

Spending an absurd amount of time in front of the ice cream trying to remember Emily's favorite flavor is a little more frustrating than he's willing to patiently accept. He remembers the brand, just not the flavor. Finally, he gives up and throws four different permutations of chocolate ice cream (chocolate with nuts & marshmallows, chocolate with caramel, chocolate with toffee, and chocolate with…chocolate) into the cart. Only the fact that he actually has to put the groceries up when he gets home keeps him from adding two more. He's aware he's over compensating but he doesn't give a damn; it's not the worst thing he's ever done.

Keeping the windows rolled down on the way home brings a good breeze through the SUV and prevents him from drifting off. Moving as quickly as he can he puts the cold items up and leaves the dry and canned goods to deal with tomorrow. Trudging upstairs, he takes a scalding shower and even though Emily is not there to wear the top, he only puts on pajama bottoms. He climbs in bed, expecting to be asleep in record time. Instead, the images of the last two days shift through his mind like a kaleidoscope, moving and melding: Emily sobbing against his shoulder this morning, Jimmy asking if he was ready to let her go, Emily watching the hummingbirds from the sunroom, the look on Reid's face when he quoted the statistics about decreased fertility, her blood on the ER doctor's scrubs, the look on her face when she'd kissed him this afternoon.

If it makes any sense, he doesn't know what kind of sense it is.

Pulling the pillow over from her side of the bed, he breathes in her scent. Finally, he sleeps.

***

He brings her home the next afternoon. Though she seemed fine, almost back to normal, when he arrived at the hospital, the simple tasks of dressing and riding in the car seem to have worn away whatever energy she had built up. He gets her to agree to rest in the bed instead of on the sofa and she goes to sleep almost immediately, not waking until Jimmy shows up in the evening with Chinese take-out. Rossi tries to persuade her to eat in the bedroom but she just gets that stubborn Prentiss look on her face and refuses. He takes the majority of her weight as he helps her down the stairs and kisses her hair at least half dozen times as he does so, he's so happy to have her leaning on him.

Chopsticks are distributed and cartons passed around. Jimmy is at his most entertaining, pulling out stories of his and David Rossi's misspent youth. The stories are more tall tale than actual history, but Rossi doesn't protest too loudly, since Emily is smiling and laughing at the heavily embellished accounts of the exploits of their younger selves while they share Crab Rangoon, Kung Pao Shrimp, Vegetable Lo Mein, and Ginger Beef.

It's a relief to see her laughing and conversing; he figures some introspection is inevitable and he hopes she'll talk to him when she's ready. But he worries when she's too quiet, wonders what she's thinking, speculates about how she really feels. But he is, frankly, too afraid to question her.

Jimmy keeps her laughing until she starts yawning again. He hugs her gently and kisses her cheek when he bids her goodbye. "You know where to find me if you want to talk."

Dave tries to carry her up the stairs, but she's not having any of it, leaning more on the banister than him. She does, however, thread her fingers through his and it pulls on his heart. When he joins her in bed, she scoots back against him and he wraps his arms around her, being careful of her incision. She turns her head to kiss his arm and sighs sleepily, "Missed you." He kisses her shoulder and doesn't say anything but he knows exactly what she means. And how she feels.

Monday passes similarly to Sunday afternoon, except Emily reads on the sofa and doesn't sleep quite as much when she does nap. She's moving a little easier and looks less drawn, though the sorrow still lingers on her features when she isn't trying to keep a smile on her face. How hard she's trying makes the center of his chest ache; but he's not sure if she's doing it for him or for herself and that makes him tread carefully.

It's late afternoon and she's drowsing on the sofa with her ear buds in when his cell phone rings. He moves to the sunroom to take the call from Hotch. The team had taken off for Nashville that morning in pursuit of a serial rapist and even though he was officially on leave, he had agreed to consult over the phone. Being down two profilers put a lot of pressure on the rest of the team and as long as he didn't have to leave Emily he was happy to help. Normally, he'd go to the study to take the call but he doesn't want to move that far from her. He knows he is being a bit overprotective, but until he gets over it or she tells him to cut it out, it's the way it is.

Before he sits down on the wicker sofa, he turns the ceiling fans on. It's hot as hell in there with the afternoon sun and as he listens to Hotch talk through the victimology with the rest of the team he wonders if he should get some window shades for the room. The warmth was nice in the winter but it's a bit too much in the summer. He'd never used the room much until Emily started spending more time here. She loved to sit out there on weekend mornings and nurse her coffee. He often complained the sofa wasn't as comfortable as the one in the Great Room, but she just said it was a shame to have such a beautiful room and never use it. In the spring she'd bought several hanging baskets and placed them around the room; they were now thriving with vibrant, lush foliage overflowing their baskets. _She's right, it is a beautiful room._ It reminds him of her.

It's almost an hour before he ends the call and the sun is starting to dip when he wanders back into the Great Room and finds Emily furiously swiping at tears on her cheeks. "Em? Are you all right? Are you hurt? Are you in pain?" He's in front of her before he's aware he crossed the room.

"No, no, Dave, I'm fine." She takes in a shuddering breath that seems more like a sob. He knows he's frowning fiercely, but she looks at him and gives a watery laugh and tugs on his hand until he sits down beside her. "I swear. I am not hurt, I am not in pain, I am fine."

Her eyes are bloodshot and swollen and her nose is very red. Carefully, he slides an arm around her. "Emily, I've got to say, this is not what I usually interpret as fine." He's trying for light but even he can hear the worry and doubt in his own voice.

She sucks in another breath that sounds a little like it hurts. "It's hormones." Shaking her head, she presses against his side. "I was listening to my iPod and there was this song," she sniffles and gives a moist giggle, "and it was just so sad and I felt so ridiculous but the more I tried to stop crying the harder I cried." Pressing the heels of her hands against her cheeks, she snorts. "Trust me, Dr. Sharma said it would happen, it's hormones."

Pulling her closer, he kisses the top of her head. "Emily…"

The doorbell rings and he curses under his breath and she laughs. "It's all right; get the door. I'm not going to collapse into hysterics."

He kisses her again as he stands up. "It would be okay if that's what you needed to do."

She rolls her eyes. "Not quite." Her tone is so completely normal, so absolutely Prentiss, he blinks for a minute. Then the doorbell rings again and she quirks an eyebrow at him. "You want me to get that for you?"

He's still shaking his head when he opens his front door to find Penelope Garcia with Kevin Lynch in tow bearing bags of Mexican take-out and board games. Garcia sweeps in like the force of nature she is, pausing for the smallest beat when she sees Emily's face, but then she proceeds to pretend it isn't obvious Emily has been crying and Kevin, thankfully, plays along.

There are plenty of things Rossi likes about Garcia, a lot of qualities about her he admires and a couple he finds irritating but he has to admit she does know how to breathe life into a room and provide a distraction. Soon she has wrangled a small cooler out of Kevin's arms ("Isn't he just the cutest little pack mule?", a question Rossi is glad seems to be rhetorical, especially since he's one of two people in the room to have seen Kevin naked) and gives both men a beer bottle with a lime wedge while she and Emily are sipping on virgin margaritas in gaudy plastic glasses.

Two hours later, Dave thinks he may have lost touch with reality when he realizes he is playing Trivial Pursuit in the middle of his Great Room with Penelope Garcia and her boyfriend and, to top it off, his ass is getting handed to him.

Emily isn't faring much better. "Porcupines do _not_ masturbate." She shifts the pillow behind her back; Rossi bites down on the urge to get up and adjust it for her.

"Yes, Mistress Prentiss, Princess of the Profile, porcupines do, indeed, masturbate." Gleefully, Garcia stands and moves over to Prentiss, handing the question card to Emily who makes a face of such incredulous disbelief, Rossi smiles.

"I don't believe this." She examines the card carefully. "Did you have this printed?"

"No, I did not." Garcia huffs, grabs the card and flounces back to her seat on the other side of the coffee table.

"She cheats," Kevin says mournfully into the neck of his beer bottle.

"Foolish mortal, being the consort of a goddess does not give you the right to pronounce such things." Garcia puts her nose in the air, primly. "Having a vast array of knowledge is not cheating."

Kevin raises his eyebrows and takes a sip of his beer. "Memorizing the cards is." The playful smack Garcia delivers to his khaki covered thigh resounds in the high ceilinged room.

"Kevin," Emily smiles, clearly enjoying herself, "be careful or you'll be going the way of the porcupine."

***

Tuesday morning Dave wakes alone with a panicked sense of déjà vu. He doesn't bother with a robe as he checks the upstairs then quickly heads downstairs, calling her name.

"I'm here." She's sitting on the sofa in the sunroom, still dressed in the pajama top she wore to bed, cradling a cup of coffee between her palms.

"Jesus, Prentiss." His heart is pounding in his chest and he's fighting the surge of adrenaline that wants to convert itself to anger now that he sees she's all right. He just leans against the door jamb, shaking his head at her. "You scared me."

Cocking an eyebrow at him, she gives a little laugh. "Well, if scaring you gets me the half naked Rossi floor show, I'm going to do it more often."

"Emily…" he starts, but doesn't know how to say it with different words, so he says it a different way. "You _scared me._"

The expression on her face shifts as she puts her coffee on the side table and he realizes he just said a lot more than he had intended. "I'm sorry." She bites her lip and extends her hand. "C'mere."

He releases a sigh that feels like it was five days in the making, and pushes off the door, taking her hand as he sits down next to her. But just holding her hand isn't enough; he wraps an arm around her and pulls her in so tight she squeaks. Immediately, he loosens his grip and asks a little anxiously, "Did I hurt you?"

"No," she lets out a breath, sounding a little amused. "Just surprised me." Leaning her head on his shoulder, she reaches for his other hand, entwining their fingers against his chest. "I…" she clears her throat and he tenses a little. "I know this hasn't been easy on you…taking care of me and suddenly living in a fishbowl while you do it."

"Em…" he starts, but she squeezes his hand, and he stops.

"I know it's the way it happened and you would never dream of doing anything other than everything you could for me, but, could I, please, just say thank you?" Her speech is rapid when she begins, but ends almost hesitantly with a touch of shyness and he feels himself relax.

Gently hugging her, he presses a kiss to the top of her head, inhaling the fragrant scent of her hair. "You're welcome."

They're quiet for a bit and he's content, just being here with her, knowing she's okay.

Sometimes he thinks the time he spends quietly with her says more than any words he knows. And if he's honest with himself, after three wives some words no longer carry the meaning they once did. Emily means more to him than any word he ever gave any of them. Maybe it's not fair to her, maybe she needs to hear him say those words, maybe he'll ask her someday. But for now he does his best to show her how he feels, because words...they don't mean anything unless he's willing to become the man his words imply. With Emily it just seems simpler to be that man and she seems to understand.

Suddenly, she sits forward, her head moving from one side of the room to the other. "You got another feeder." The feeder he found at the grocery store is now hanging to the side of the sunroom, out of sight of the first one, but easily viewed from inside the room. There's a fluttering beside the new one, one of the hummingbirds suspended beside it, carefully observing it, tilting its head from side to side.

He pulls her back against him, nestling her head under his chin. "Well, we had a deal. And while you _technically_ didn't come home at lunch on Friday, you _did_ leave work."

Huffing out a laugh, she lightly slaps his bare chest. "Dave. Seriously? Everything that's gone on the last few days and you took the time to put up another feeder? You are something else." She sounds both amused and touched and he gets a thrill at the idea he has made her happy. "Why would you do that?"

Resting his cheek against her silky hair, he smiles. "Because you asked me to."

Emily hums against him playfully. "So, you'd do anything I asked?"

His answer is unfettered by thought or apprehension or doubt, it is simply real and true. "Yes." His tone is a serious answer to her playful query and they both know they aren't talking about bird feeders any more.

There's a pause, and the air around them seems to contract, then expand, heavy with the weight of unsaid things. He waits for panic to set in, but there's none. There's just Emily in his arms, the two of them here in this moment. She's so beautiful and she's his and he's going to keep her for as long as she'll have him. He can do this, because Emily thinks he can and yeah, he has some doubt and some fear, but Emily is worth a little doubt and a little fear; Emily is worth everything.

Her voice is hesitant, as if she thinks she might be the only one reading more into this. "You really mean that?"

He wonders if she can feel his heart beneath their hands beating like a hummingbird's wings. "Yes, I mean that." He kisses her. "I really mean that."

When Emily nestles more firmly against him and says, softly, "Good to know," he just smiles against her and they both watch as the hummingbirds feed.

FIN

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A/N: FF is still not allowing me to answer reviews (it's not even showing the most recent ones), but I want to thank everyone who has read and everyone who reviewed. Thank you so much. It means more than I can say.


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